Banana Pancakes
by NotMarge
Summary: The thing Cunningham wanted most was to make banana pancakes with his kids again. The guy in the other cot never forgot that. And when the fighting was over and Francis was dead, Wade Wilson decided to make good on a promise he never took the time to make. Maximum effort with the no cussing part. MCU.


I do not own Deadpool .

I do love all pancakes.

Banana Pancakes

* * *

"Get ready to meet your maker, you potassium-glutted paradise fruit!"

The serum enhanced man with the Shar Pei-ed face brandished the sharp knife with trademark flair.

And drove it ruthlessly and with great precision down into the soft meaty center.

Of the freshly peeled banana.

The boy and girl perched in front of him giggled in amusement.

"You're silly, Mr. Wade!"

He grinned winningly from behind the mask.

"Thanks! It's just Wade though."

Re-adjusted the big puffy white chef's hat he'd pilfered from the French restaurant on the citywalk.

And straightened the pink, frilly apron he'd dug out of the broom closet.

The little girl with the soft fall of tangled blonde hair piped up with all the sage assurity of childhood.

"Our mom says we have to call adults Mr. and Mrs. to show respect."

Wade Wilson nodded, winking one brow-less eye.

And started quick-chopping the bananas.

"Well, she's absolutely right! Really smart lady, your m - oh, son of a _b-ee_ _sting_!"

In his frenzy of unpracticed culinary hyperactivity, the regenerating vigilante had neatly sliced off his right pinky finger.

The kids gasped as the quick-thinking Wilson flicked the appendage onto the floor.

Along with a substantial amount of blood absorbing flour.

"Uh-oh, I dropped some banana on the floor! 'Scuse me, kids!"

And dove under kitchen island, snatching up the flourcoated finger and jamming back in place.

Licked his lips experimentally as the nerves reconnected.

 _Mmm, all purpose-y._

The rubbernecking kids jerked back as he popped back up to his feet.

"You cut off your finger!" the brown haired boy exclaimed excitedly.

The nine and a half fingered Gordon Ramsey wannabe chuckled, waving the other, perfectly good hand at the goggle-eyed child.

"Oh no, I didn't, that's silly! I just dropped some banana."

But the son of the deceased David Cunningham would not be so easily convinced.

"No, you didn't! You cut off your _finger_! There's blood on the floor!"

"No, there's not, that's strawberry jam!"

The boy would not be deterred.

"The jam's in the fridge! You cut your finger off and now you're lying!"

Deadpool glared at him in frustration.

"No, I'm n- . . . I'm telling you . . . Listen, you little s-ugar honeyed iced tea, you want banana pancakes or _not_?!"

The little boy grinned with glee.

"Yes!"

His newly self appointed pancake cooker nodded in satisfaction, turning to the hot pan on his left.

"Good, 'cause I didn't come all this way to- oh mother- _chunker_ , my European Style Butter's burning! That stuff's expensive!"

And flung the smoking pan in the general direction of the sink.

"Okaaaay, new plan! You guys got a griddle?"

* * *

"These are the best pancakes ever, Mr. Wade!"

Generous heapings of peanut butter syrup coated the carb and sugar loaded breakfast goodness.

"Thanks! I got this recipe off Pinterest! The secret is using superripe bananas and not overmixing the batter!"

The children smacked their lips together in delight.

"Aren't you gonna have some, Mr. Wade?"

The mercenary with a mouth shrugged casually.

There was no way he could eat without revealing his avocado-ed visage to the children, scarring _them_ for life.

"Naw, gotta fit into this spandex a long time, don'tcha think? Blubberbutt's not a good name for a bad guy stopper! Blob, maybe . . ."

"You sure do talk funny, Mr. Wade," the girl observed baldly through an overstuffed mouthful of pancake.

"Yeah . . . it's almost like somebody is writing dialogue for me to make me sound ridiculous."

The girl giggled and resumed her breakfast fest.

As Captain Deadpool (no, just Deadpool) gathered up the bowls and whisks and other sundries in a vain attempt to clean up the culinary catastrophe he had wrought upon the white-washed kitchen.

Humming 'Just Whistle While You Work' under his breath.

Until he reached the sink.

"What the _h-azelnut_?! Who dumped coffee grounds in the sink? I didn't know I was cooking for savages!"

The children giggled again before plunging headlong into another line of questioning.

"Mr. Wade, why do you wear a mask?"

The Croc-wearing spandexed anti-superhero paused in his ineffective kitchen cleaning duties.

Leaned over the kitchen bar conspiratorily, causing the kids to instinctually lean toward him as well.

"Well, I'm not sure I should be telling you this, it's really heavy stuff, but . . . I'm actually Ryan Reynolds in disguise."

The kids stared at him blankly.

"Who?"

Deadpool stared uncomprehendingly before slow-burn turning away.

"Never mind . . . oooh, an Amazon Echo! I've always wanted one of these! Echo . . . Wham!"

As the melodic tones of "Careless Whisper" pervaded the cooking space, Wade Wilson swayed entranced on the spot.

Eliciting another burst of giggles from the pancaked children.

Causing him to stopped his swaying and throw his gloved hands in the air.

"No, seriously, 'Wham!'"

The girl made a face.

"They're kinda boring. What about One Direction?"

Deadpool stared at her.

"One direction where?"

She giggled.

"You're silly!"

Wade facepalmed himself.

"Fake laugh. Hiding real pain . . . Moving along . . . Now, Wham is the quintessential-"

"Mr. Wade, are you really a friend of our dad?"

Wade noisily gathered the children's breakfast dishes for a second before responding.

"Uh, yeah! We were in tort- treatment together and he di- didn't want you to miss anymore banana pancakes!"

He paused before continuing on in a quieter, more sincere tone.

"Your dad loved you guys very much. You were all he could think about. Remember that. Remember how much he loved you, okay?"

The children's eyes were big and round.

Wade's chest suddenly felt tight and aching.

The moment stretched out until it seemed ready to snap.

And was blissfully interrupted by the muted buzzing of a cellular device.

"Please excuse me for a quick commercial break, kids!"

The phone whipped out from parts unknown, texting app activated.

 _Where are you? I need a face to sit on!_

"Oh Vanessa, you sexy little lemon-lime flavored lollipop! You're a lifesaver!"

The comment was muttered but all children are enhanced with inappropriate superhearing.

"Who's Vanessa?"

The small rectangle magically disappeared once more.

"Oh, she's my girlfriend. She's got the best ass-cidosis levels in the whole world!"

Quizzical expressions from Cunningham's son and daughter.

"What?"

Wade Wilson tossed off his apron and hat.

"Never mind. Gotta go, kids! Enjoy the pancakes!"

The kids beamed at the masked man making his exit.

"Thanks, Mr. Wade!"

Opening the . . .

"Front door."

. . . and waving back back at the syrup-covered children.

"You're welcome! And remember to floss!"

* * *

Wade Wilson was greeted a little less positively by a svelte woman in sweat-soaked spandex and a flopping blond ponytail ascending the short set of steps to the house.

"Are you . . . are you coming out of my _house_? What do you-"

Wade Wilson was already over whatever she thought she was going to say.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave your little kids home alone to go jogging for an hour. Any nutbag off the street could just waltz right in and feed 'em banana pancakes. So why don't you think about not caring about getting a coupla dimples on that tubthumper, stay home with your kids, and have your self-absorbed fitness breakdown when they go to college, ok?"

The woman's jaw dropped in shock.

"Wh-wh-aa-ttt? How _dare_ you speak to me like that, you fu-"

Deadpool waggled one upraised forefinger in her face.

"Uh uh uh, sweetcheeks. If I can't drop the f-bomb in front of the rugrats here, nobody can!"

She reflexively glanced at the house in bewilderment, then back . . .

To see the crime-fighting pancake-cooking cretin almost across the street.

"Hey, where are you going? Get back here, I'm calling the c-"

Deadpool reversed into a backward trot to interrupt her diatribe.

"See, I was supposed to have already disappeared into the suburban backdrop so you could look foolish lecturing to thin air, I'm really gonna have to work on my departures, this is just embar-"

And then he was gone.

The dumbfounded woman felt something flapping against her sneakered foot.

She looked down. It was a piece of paper.

 _Have a great day!_

 _-from Your Friendly Neighborhood Deadpool_

* * *

 **Alright, so now I write for Deadpool?! Awesome.**

 **As always, everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


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